


To Make a Shidduch

by exfactor



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-15 13:43:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13032381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exfactor/pseuds/exfactor
Summary: Lexa takes Clarke home for Hanukkah. (Gently inspired by a few scenes from “The Big Sick,” fully inspired by my mother.)





	To Make a Shidduch

“We still on for our movie Thursday night?” Clarke sits behind her desk in the front lobby and looks up at Lexa with hopeful blue eyes. “I have a new cookie recipe that I’m pretty sure you’ll love - mint chocolate chip. It's got..."

  
"Actually I can't,” Lexa stops abruptly, circling back around to Clarke’s desk. She figures her project meeting can start a few minutes late. “I really wish that I could."

  
“And interrupt our regular movie night?” Clarke says with a smile and a hint of sarcasm. Lexa has to chance a glance into her eyes to make sure she’s kidding.

 

It took a lot to work up to the moment when Lexa suggested a movie night. It started one morning nearly a year ago with a shy smile on Clarke’s first day. Those shy smiles and brief hellos continued over several weeks, Lexa hustling into the front lobby and Clarke’s eyes and smile following her.

  
"Our regular movie night that we started two months ago?” Lexa says with her own smile and hint of sarcasm.

 

Shy smiles and brief hellos turned into morning queries - ‘How was your weekend?’ and ‘Didn’t Martin wear that same outfit to work yesterday?’ Lexa grew to long for Clarke’s throaty laugh, wide smile, and sparkling eyes.

 

“That very one,” Clarke replies, with the raise of an eyebrow. “How can it be regular if we don’t stick to our schedule?”

 

Eventually, when Lexa found out that Clarke took her lunch break every day at 12:45 on the dot, she decided to start bringing her own lunch. She would claim that it was by mere coincidence that she happened to want to eat around 12:45 every day, as well.

 

And, one lunch when Clarke admitted to never having seen a single Michael J. Fox movie, Lexa insisted that they watch _Back to the Future_ together. (Partially because it’s such a great movie, but also because there’d be the chance to suggest watching the sequel the following week.) Clarke invited Lexa to their very first movie night and the rest is history. Albeit a short-lived history, thus far.

 

“Sorry, Clarke, can’t do a movie this week. I have to go home. I didn't go home for High Holidays and my mom may disown me if I don't spend a couple of days over there for Hanukkah."

 

Except that Lexa’s about to break their 7-week-long movie night tradition.

  
"I thought Hanukkah wasn't that big a deal?”

  
"It's not. But the level of guilt Deborah is heaping on me in her voicemails is a big deal."

  
"You call your mom by her first name?" Lexa’s not sure whether to feel guilty for being caught or like a rebel for defying parent-child norms.

  
Guilt wins out. "Only behind her back." As Deborah’s daughter, guilt always wins out.

  
"Oh. I guess I've never heard you call her that.” She tries to quickly recall if she’s ever heard Lexa talk about her family at all. “So how long will you be gone?"

  
"Thursday to Sunday, I think."

  
"That will be nice, Lexa,” Clarke says, thinking about her mom and her own Christmas trip back to Chicago. “I don't know why you've got that look."

  
"What look?"

  
"Like someone died.”

  
"I don't look like someone died.”

  
Clarke stands and leans over her desk. Her hands reach toward Lexa’s face and Lexa’s heart pounds. She feels her face redden and knows it’s probably spreading down her neck to her chest. The tips of Clarke’s fingers trace gently across the corners of her mouth and she feels the deathly scowl break. Lexa adjusts until she’s tilting her head and offering Clarke the same smile that she wears when greeting clients.

 

“If that fake smile will please Deborah, then I guess that’s good enough for me,” she says, offering her own fake smile. “Anyway, I think that smile is your cue, champ.”

 

“My cue for what?”

 

“Morning meeting?”

 

“Shit, right. Martin’s going to be pissed,” Lexa says as she hustles to the conference room door.

 

 

 

 

Three hours later, at lunch, Clarke doesn’t miss a beat and it’s yet another reason Lexa has come to like her so much.

 

"There have to be some good things about going home, right? You get to have some good home-cooked food. What about those fried potato things? I mean, those things sound delicious. Who wouldn't like fried potato pancakes?"

  
As soon as Clarke says it, she can smell the hot grease that will permeate her clothes for the weekend. "Sure, latkes are great. You know what's not great? Deborah wants me to be married and barefoot in a kitchen like yesterday. Can you imagine?"

  
Clarke stops mid-chew and squints her eyes at Lexa. "I thought you said you came out to your parents."

  
"Freshman year. It didn't change a thing. Deborah wants the big wedding and the daughter-in-law and the grandkids and the spoiling of the grandkids. I'm sure I'll be asked about it no fewer than twenty times. But that isn't even the worst of it."

  
"What is?"

  
"Ever since my junior year, she's started this thing where we're out shopping or to lunch and we'll happen to run into her friend and her friend's daughter, or a family from our shul will just happen to come by before dinner and they'll have a daughter about my age with them. We always happen to bump into some family friend who conveniently has a daughter my age and who conveniently might just be into women. It's happened so many times I've lost count."

 

“Oh my gosh, Lexa, really?” Lexa wants Clarke to commiserate but instead she looks like she’s about to fall off her chair.  "You think she's trying to set you up?"

  
"She wants to make a shidduch."

  
"A what now?"

  
The Yiddish comes so naturally when she talks about her family that she forgets she’s speaking to blonde-haired, blue-eyed, Midwestern Clarke, who despite claiming to grow up in Chicago, actually grew up two house outside of it, amidst farms and Super Walmarts and single traffic lights. Clarke, who had never had a proper corned beef sandwich until Lexa took her out to lunch at the Jewish deli a few months back.

 

"A shidduch - a set up. She is definitely trying to set me up."

  
"That doesn't sound too bad. I mean, you haven't really dated anyone since I've known you."

  
"Sure I did," Lexa says quickly. Nearly as soon as it’s out of her mouth, she wants to take it back.

  
"Who?"

  
She takes a big spoon full of yogurt, buying her a few more moments of time. Clarke looks at her with big eyes and a near smile. She’s lying in wait.

 

“Katy.”

 

"No way.” Clarke pounces. “She doesn't count. She got hammered and puked in your lap and you didn't return her phone calls for a week."

  
"Can you blame me?"

  
"I mean, we've all done some stupid things. You could have just talked to her one last time. She was really pretty."

  
“Not when she was ralphing on me. At least it was good for a laugh, though.”

  
"I didn't laugh at our movie night being interrupted by a phone call from Katy every thirty minutes. Anyway, I'm just saying it wouldn't hurt to agree to a date with one of these girls your mom is setting you up with. It probably can't get worse than it already is."

  
"I can't give my mom the satisfaction."

  
"You're insufferable sometimes."

 

Clarke laughs. It’s that deep, full laugh that Lexa can’t get enough of, that laugh that has her eyes meeting Clarke’s, just so she can watch Clarke take such pleasure. In turn, Clarke gives her a look that has Lexa caught between returning her gaze and finding the bottom of her yogurt cup the most interesting part of her day.

  
"I get it from her, you know,” she says, hoping to deflect from whatever that moment just was. “Anyway, what are you going to do without me? What movie are you going to watch, all by your lonesome? Who are you going to have to nudge awake less than halfway through the movie?"

  
"Maybe I could invite Martin."

  
"Martin's a chump. Plus, you'd have to talk to him. When we worked on that last project together, he didn't do any work.”

  
"I know. You stopped by my desk about a billion times to complain."

  
"Who are you going to bake cookies for?"

 

"I think everyone in the office will like them."

  
"Not as much as me. Who will you complain to when the copy machine gets jammed for the hundredth time? Who's going to compliment your art? Who are you going to say hi to every morning?"

 

“You act like you’re going to be gone for months. It’s just two days and I have other friends in the office, you know?” Clarke says with a smile. Lexa knows that just a few months ago, Clarke was eating her 12:45 lunches alone, so she’s not so sure about the truth of Clarke’s statement, but she’s also not going to sour the mood by calling her out on it.

 

"Seriously - are you going to miss me?"

  
"You're going to be gone for all of four days. I think I'll survive."

  
"Well then, I may not survive without you. Do you want to come with me? Potato pancakes and Jewish guilt? It’s a classic combination."

 

“That doesn’t sound so bad in my book.”

 

“Oh, it’s going to be bad,” Lexa says. She hasn’t been home in almost six months and she’s avoided her mom’s phone calls for the past several weeks. More than one hundred miles away, she can still hear her mom’s voice ringing in her ears. “Deborah’s about to make me so miserable with all these girls around me like it’s some dating show.”

 

Clarke stops eating and looks up at her.

 

She doesn’t say it right away, despite that look, which Lexa knows means that it’s another cockeyed idea of Clarke’s, like the time she dragged Lexa halfway across town during their lunch break so that they could get a 30-second look at the Kusama exhibit.

 

It’s enough to make Lexa stop mid-chew and stare.

 

“I could come and be your girl,” Clarke says, a devilish smile spreading across her face. “That way you get the latkes without the guilt or the lady parade.”

 

The next few chews of her sandwich feel like rubber in her mouth. She finally swallows and she can feel the food traveling down her esophagus. In the meantime, she hears Clarke’s voice in her mind, repeating ‘be your girl.’

 

 “Don’t tempt me,” she chokes out, careful not to look up, just in case Clarke is kidding. Or isn’t kidding. She can’t tell which she’d prefer.

 

“I’m totally serious,” Clarke says, her hand flopping across the table, landing near Lexa’s. “I could use a couple days off and some home cooking. And there are worse people I could pretend-date.”

 

“That’s quite a compliment, Clarke.”

 

 

 

 

The train ride is grueling. They catch the early evening regional, along with a sold out crowd. Lexa’s thankful for dishing out a few extra bucks for reserved seats, but she’s not sure whether to be thankful that Clarke’s pressed so close to her on the ride up. Clarke’s floral shampoo lingers and she can’t help but think that if Clarke really were her girl, she’d push her nose into Clarke’s hair and drop a kiss against the golden, effortless waves she’s styled.

 

It reminds her that, even if it’s not official, she and Clarke are supposed to be acting like a couple this weekend. Whatever that may mean.

 

“So, we should probably work out some sort of story to tell my mom about us.”

 

“You’ll think she’ll ask about how we met?”

 

“I think she’ll ask one hundred times over. Especially since I’ve never told her about you,” Lexa looks around at the crowded train and she feels her heart thud. There’s a pang of regret that this may be a lot more complicated and stressful than just going home alone and suffering whatever she had coming to her.

 

“So let’s start with how we met.”

 

“Might as well tell the truth when we can. No reason not to say work, right?”

 

“Makes sense to me.”

 

They work through a few more details – the whens and hows of their nascent relationship. Not long after figuring out the details of a few faux dates she can tell her mom about, Lexa sees Clarke get lost in thought. She doesn’t even crack a smile when Lexa adds a third date embellishment about cooking a family recipe for Clarke.

 

“What’s that look for?”

 

“I was just thinking. Do we need to practice being affectionate or something?”

 

Lexa forgets about the faux-home-cooked meals. It’s probably for the best, because then her mom would pry about when and how she’s learned to cook. Instead, her mind strays to what ‘affectionate’ might mean. Or what would even be appropriate in a fake relationship. She shakes her head, as if to rid herself of the thought.

 

“I don’t think so. She’ll pry, but I’ll handle it. I think just the fact that I’m bringing a girl home should be enough though. She’ll probably fawn all over you.”

 

“And what will that fawning entail?”

 

“Force feeding.”

 

Clarke’s eyes go big and she leans closer, nudging her chin against Lexa’s shoulder. “I’m into it.”

 

If she turns her head to look at Clarke, their faces will be close. Too close. Instead, Lexa concentrates on keeping her eyes forward. “Lots of compliments.”

 

“Yes.” Clarke’s breath puffs out against her cheek.

 

“Questions about your family.”

 

“I can deal with that.”

 

Lexa takes a deep breath and nearly turns her head. Nearly. “There is a possibility that she’ll ask if you’ll convert.”

 

Clarke pulls back, suddenly serious. “To Judaism?”

 

“To the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster. Yes, to Judaism.”

 

“You think?”

 

“I’d put it at a 95% possibility.”

 

“Seems a bit brazen for the first meeting.”

 

“You don’t know Deborah,” Lexa says with a shake of her head. She’s thinking the possibility is actually more like 25%, but there’s something about Clarke that always drives her toward hyperbole.

 

“Well,” Clarke says carefully, “I can just tell her that I’d consider it. I mean, what’s the harm? We’re not really together.”

 

“Right.”

 

“Right.”

 

There’s a lull and Lexa’s suddenly overwhelmed. It’s one thing to go home. Another to deal with her mother for four straight days. Another that Clarke’s coming. But Clarke, as her girlfriend, real or make believe, is beyond comprehension.

 

Clarke’s quiet for longer than usual, too, though, with her own worries, Lexa doesn’t have the time to consider that maybe Clarke’s feeling a bit overwhelmed, as well.

 

“You don’t think we need to practice being affectionate?” Clarke’s eyes bore into her again and Lexa thinks she’d rather keep talking than get lost in trying to figure out the quixotic turn her life has just taken.

 

“No,” Lexa starts, imagining what Clarke’s question could mean – a hug? A kiss? Making out? She wouldn’t want to make out in front of Deborah, so they shouldn’t need to practice that. Right? Right? Would it be a good idea for Deborah to catch them making out, just so it’s believable? She hears Clarke clear her throat and tunes back in to see a questioning look.

 

“What?”

 

“Why?”

 

“Why what?”

 

“Why don’t we need to practice it?”

 

“The girlfriend thing will be enough,” she says quickly. As much as kissing Clarke actually sounds really nice, it also sounds terrifying. And it sounds extra terrifying as a practice kiss on a sold-out train fifteen minutes outside of Philadelphia.

 

“If you say so. Just…if you change your mind, let me know. You’ve got nice lips.”

 

Lexa doesn’t even register that she’s licking her own lips and gulping as she looks between Clarke’s eyes and mouth. Clarke’s laugh breaks her from her trance and she joins in with a laugh that may sound more like a choking noise. She’s succumbs to quiet embarrassment the final fifteen minutes of the trip, before they’re dumped into the pedestrian onslaught on the Philadelphia train station on a Friday night in December.

 

 

 

 

The house, in the suburbs of Philly, is just as she remembered it last, six months ago. There’s the small entryway and the overwhelming smells from the kitchen. Tonight, it smells like brisket and challah and despite her previous dread, Lexa finally feels glad to be home.

 

The sound from the TV is too loud for either one of her parents to hear her enter and she greets them in surprise. Total surprise, in fact. Deborah’s face starts in a smile, wide and toothy, but it morphs into just a mouth hanging open.

 

“Ma, Dad, this is Clarke, my girlfriend.”

 

Her mom looks completely frozen. Her mouth hasn’t moved. Her hands are in the same position, like she’s about to pull Lexa into a hug but has refrained at the last moment. Lexa’s not even sure her mom is breathing.

 

“So nice to meet you,” Lexa’s dad says. He stands from the couch and reaches out from behind his wife to shake Clarke’s hand.

 

“Clarke, huh? That’s an interesting name.” Deborah studies Clarke. Her mouth moves into tight, thin, puckered lips, and her eyes narrow. Lexa thought she’d be elated, jubilant even, that her daughter had brought home a girlfriend. Clarke shifts next to Lexa and she can hear Clarke open and close her mouth without saying a word.

 

“Ma!” “Deborah!” Lexa and her dad exclaim in unison.

 

Deborah glances back at her husband and shrugs her shoulders, as if she can’t help her bad manners. She then turns back to Clarke and tilts her head, closely examining her once again. “You look like…” she trails off. No one interrupts her and there’s a few moments when everyone in the room is hanging on the end of her sentence.

 

“Like?” Lexa asks.

 

“Oh nothing,” she says, suddenly uninterested and moving quickly toward the kitchen. “Someone I knew in college. Anyway, you girls must be hungry after such a long trip.”

 

“It was two hours and we ate on the way up.” Lexa says, taking Clarke’s bag from her, ready to escape back to her childhood bedroom and quickly hide anything embarrassing from her teenage years. She’s not sure what Clarke will make of the copious pictures of female athletes and trophies that adorn her room.

 

“Nonsense, Lexa. I just made a brisket and your father got some wines and beers just for your trip up here. Clarke, do you like brisket honey?”

 

Lexa’s heart thuds. The name, the look – her mom has probably already reached the conclusion that Clarke’s not Jewish, but this question is meant to provide her a clear answer. Clarke smiles. She’s clueless, Lexa thinks, bracing herself for another round of Deborah-isms and another exclamation of ‘Ma!’

 

“Brisket? Like barbeque?” Clarke asks, with an innocent, sweet smile.

 

Deborah turns to Lexa.

 

Her head tilts down and her lips purse and she raises her eyebrows.

 

She just looks at her.

 

Two seconds is all it takes to know that there’s going to be a private conversation about this as soon as they have a little privacy. Lexa starts to think about all of the ways she can keep Clarke attached to her hip for the remainder of the trip.

 

 

 

 

 

A good brisket could end a war. Or, in this case, make Lexa forget about that look. It isn’t until Clarke is upstairs, getting settled and calling her own mother, that the look returns.

 

“What, Ma?”

  
"Ok ok so you brought home a girl this year, whoop-dee-do. But what's with this goyishe girl, Lexa?"

 

Lexa heaves a sigh, hoping that’s all the response her mother needs. Instead, the look returns to Deborah’s face.  "Would you rather me be a lonely bachelor, Ma?"

  
"Don't spin the guilt back on me, Alexandria. I'd rather have you marry a nice Jewish lawyer."

  
"Leave the girl alone, Deborah,” her father’s voice booms from a distance. Without notice, he’s somehow made it to the other room and seems to tune in when the TV cuts to commercials.

  
"A doctor's ok, too."

  
"Deborah.” Another boom over the TV.

  
"If you don't care about our daughter's future, Herm, that's fine,” she yells, “but I'm allowed to care. My only girl."

 

Lexa hopes that Clarke is fully engrossed in her conversation with her mother, or she’s going to hear this conversation. Then again, she remembers, it doesn’t really matter whether she hears that she doesn’t meet Lexa’s mother’s approval. They’re not together.

  
"Well there's no Jewish lawyers or doctors in my life right now, Ma. Maybe one day, but for now, we're working with Clarke."

  
"So you're not committed to her?" She thinks there may be a glimmer of hope in her mother’s eye, but it may also be disappointment.

  
"I'm twenty-four. I'm not committed to taking a shower tomorrow morning."

  
"Feh," she says, looking to the side in disgust, but that twinkle in her eye remains.

 

She bounds up the stairs, the second to last one making the same creak as it always has, to find Clarke perched at the end of her double bed finishing the phone call with her mom.

 

“Things ok?”

 

“Yep,” Clarke says. There’s a little shake to her voice, which gives Lexa pause, but she doesn’t push it.

 

“Sorry my room is so…” embarrassing is the word for it, but she thinks that won’t well do.

 

“It’s better than my room, believe me.” Clarke stands and moves to the wall where her trophies are perched. “First place, MVP, another first place – were you ever not good at anything?”

 

She moves to examine the trophies, though they’ve been in the same place collecting dust for nearly ten years. “I can think of a quite a few regular human being things that I’m not good at, but they don’t give out trophies for those.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“Returning your mother’s phone calls.”   


She looks back at Clarke. Everything feels too intimate, suddenly. Clarke’s voice is soft, she sits on Lexa’s childhood bed, her hand plays with Lexa’s comforter. Her eyes follow Lexa around her childhood bedroom.

 

“If they gave out a trophy for that, I might have my first trophy displayed in my room.”

 

“Come on, you never won a trophy for anything? I refuse to believe that.” Clarke’s caught in a rare moment of vulnerability and it feels like a good time to sit down on her bed next to her, but Lexa’s feet are firmly rooted. 

 

“Nothing.”

 

“What about your art? You never won any contests?”

 

“I never entered any contests.”

 

“Well if you did, you’d win.”

 

Clarke looks up at her with a shy smile and Lexa nods.

  
“Tired?”

 

While Clarke is in the bathroom changing, Lexa quickly changes and pulls a thin mattress pad from the closet, along with some old sheets and blankets used at the many sleepovers she’d once been renowned for. She’s sure Clarke will have some comment about the flowers adorning the comforter, or the fruity smell of the drier sheets she’d used as a high schooler.

 

Instead, she asks “What are you doing?” Her hair is mussed and she clearly isn’t wearing a bra. Lexa looks away and down at her blankets.

 

“I’m sleeping.”

 

“Down there?”

 

“Yes. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

 

“You don’t think your mom is going to know?”

 

She can feel her face contort as she weighs the answer to Clarke’s question. It seems she’s come across a dilemma that may be a common theme for this trip home: act like Clarke’s girlfriend and submit to some uncomfortable, albeit thrilling feelings; or, don’t act like Clarke’s girlfriend and submit to the possibility that her mom might start bringing the ‘lady parade’ back around.

 

“Scoot over,” she says, climbing back into her childhood bed.

 

“You’re not going to make me uncomfortable. I promise,” Clarke says. “In fact,” she raises to her knees and hovers over Lexa’s body, “I’m going to make you uncomfortable.” She erupts into a fit of giggles as she throws her body over Lexa’s and digs her fingers into Lexa’s sides.

 

“Not the tickle monster!” Lexa squeals, adding her own giggles to the cacophony that her parents can surely hear from downstairs.   


 

 

 

Friday goes mostly to plan, which is to say that Lexa’s parents are off at work most of the day and Lexa shows Clarke around the small part of suburban Philadelphia where she grew up. They eat lunch at Lexa’s favorite deli and window shop along the quaint main street.

 

Friday night, though, commences the undoing of Lexa and Clarke’s grand scheme.

  
  
The first time it happens is at shul.

 

It’s a beautiful old synagogue about fifteen minutes from Lexa’s house. She and Clarke have dressed in their finest in order to join Lexa’s parents. Clarke’s got on a modest velvet dress that Lexa’s seen her wear to work. In fact, she thinks that the last time Clarke wore it, she said something about it. She can’t remember exactly what she said and all she can think now is that her legs look really good in it, but there’s no way she could have said that, right?

 

Clarke actually seems to really enjoy the service and the artistry of the synagogue. Lexa’s father and Clarke disappear just after the service ends to get a closer look – and Clarke, a history lesson – at the stained glass windows.

 

It’s then that things take a turn.

  
"Mark, you remember our Lexa, right?" Lexa hears her mother’s voice from behind her.

  
"Oh sure,” a man’s voice says. She turns around and the man looks familiar, though she can’t place him. She shoves the cookie into her mouth to free up her hand to shake his.

 

There’s a girl beside him and Deborah, well, Deborah is absolutely jubilant.

 

“You were about this tall the last time I met you,” he says. “Dirt smeared across your face and hair wild."

  
Her mother butts in, unable to stand the suspense any longer. "Lexa, do you remember Mr. Edelman? And his daughter Rachel?"

 

Just then, Clarke reappears and Lexa cannot be more grateful for her timing.

 

Lexa’s mom doesn’t skip a beat. "This is Lexa's friend, Clarke."

  
Lexa pauses. Rachel's pretty and familiar and she seems to be about as into this whole set up thing (if that’s what this really is – but come on, history tells Lexa that that’s what this really is) as Lexa is, which somehow makes her even more appealing. She's tempted to let her mother slide, but Clarke slips her arm around Lexa's and, fake relationship or not, Lexa doesn’t want Clarke to feel ashamed in any way.  

  
"My girlfriend, mom," Lexa says with a glare.

  
"Yes, of course,” she says, with a saccharine smile, “Lexa's girlfriend, Clarke."

 

There’s a little bit of small talk that happens after their initial interaction, but it’s pretty clear from Rachel’s face, and even her father’s face, that their set-up did not go as intended.

 

Lexa catches Rachel by the bathrooms a few minutes later, as she waits for Clarke to come back out. She’d rather hang out by the bathrooms than be accosted by her mother and another prospect somewhere by the desserts.

 

“I’m so sorry about that, Rachel.”

 

Rachel’s drying her hands on her slacks as she exits the bathroom. “It’s ok. I’m not sure where my dad got the idea that we would make a good couple.”

 

“Same with my mom,” Lexa says, glad not to have disappointed Rachel too much. “She knows about all of those fights we got into in middle school.”

 

“And high school. Remember that time I pulled your hair on the soccer field and got a red card?”

 

“And then I kicked you and I got a red card?”

 

“We hated each other.”

 

Clarke reappears by her side and if nothing else, Lexa’s grateful for Clarke’s presence in uncomfortable situations so far during this trip home.

 

“On the field at least,” Lexa says, laughing.

 

“So Clarke,” Rachel begins, “how did you guys meet?”

 

“At work, actually,” Clarke says, just like they practiced on the train.

 

“Oh yeah? Do you guys still work together? Is that weird?”

 

Clarke looks at Lexa. “Um.”

 

Lexa looks at Clarke. “Uh.”

 

Clarke looks down. “I mean...”

 

Lexa looks at Rachel. “No?”

 

Rachel’s frowning and looking between the two of them. Lexa thinks she sees Rachel shake her head, but it could just be her mind playing tricks on her based on how she would react to whatever it is that just happened between her and Clarke.

 

“Anyway. Lexa, you still play soccer?”

 

“Yep,” Lexa says, eyes wide and too loud, just grateful to have something else to talk about.

 

“You do?” Clarke’s mouth stays open after she says it and she wonders how quickly Rachel is going to catch on to their farce.

 

“Every Sunday night,” Lexa says to Rachel, barreling right past Clarke’s gaffe.

 

“She’s so sleepy when she comes into work on Monday,” Clarke says, hoping to cover for her earlier mistake. “Soccer really takes it out of you, Lex.” The nickname, she hopes, provides added effect.

 

“Yeah. Babe.” It’s stuttered and so unnatural that Clarke’s eyebrows shoot up and she has to hold back a laugh by pulling her lips in and biting down.

 

“You guys are so cute,” Rachel says. Lexa figures she has to be lying, but she’s never much liked Rachel anyway.

 

They escape soon after. The ride home with Lexa’s parents is silent and the Manischewitz (plus the wine from dinner) kicks in just as they enter the house. No one talks about Rachel, or the set up, not even Clarke and Lexa. The house goes dark in minutes as everyone falls into bed.

  
  


 

 

The next time things unravel, they’re out shopping with Lexa’s mom. Even now, in the days of online retail, Lexa can’t go back home without her mom insisting on taking her out to the mall to buy new clothes. She’s surprised that the mall is still standing, given the decimation of customers year after year. Clarke laughs when she hears that they’re going to the mall, then, eyes wide, stops abruptly and says, “Oh, I didn’t realize you were serious. Or that we were pretending we were thirteen.” Lexa rolls her eyes and soon enough they’re on their way in the backseat of Deborah’s SUV.

 

Her mom seems to have a schedule for their trip, but that doesn’t come as much surprise to Lexa. They start at Macy’s or Sears or JCPenney. Lexa can’t keep them straight, she just knows that there are rows upon rows of clothes and her mom has to touch every single beadazzled sweater in the store. Clarke disappears to the bathroom and is gone, unnoticed by Deborah, for forty minutes, before she finds them again, a new pair of shoes tucked into a shopping bag.

 

The next stop is a ritzy home goods store. Deborah claims that it’s just to browse, but each time she finds something she likes, she points to it and tells Lexa and Clarke that she can find the same thing at Marshall’s for half the price.

 

At 12:30 exactly, they’re at the food court, divvied up and deciding what to eat.

  
"Hi Lexa, remember me?"

  
Lexa looks up to see familiar brown eyes and a long elegant neck. Sarah. From her first high school dance. She whips her head around, looking for Clarke to step in and save her, but finds Clarke and her mom across the food court, talking to a woman who has got to be Sarah's mom. 

  
She feels a touch on her arm and finds Sarah's hand reaching out to her, pulling her attention back in. 

  
"Sarah."

  
"So you haven't forgotten me?"

  
"No. I mean...no." There's almost an 'of course not' thrown in there, but she thinks better of it. Of course she hasn't forgotten Sarah. Her first kiss, how could she forget Sarah? There were braces. There was a lot of tongue. She thinks she maybe liked it back then, but braces and a lot of tongue doesn't sound at all appealing now.

 

"It's been forever since we've talked. Do you want to go out and catch up some time?"

  
"Uh," Lexa looks around again, desperate for Clarke to be by her side. She’s doesn’t see her with her mom anymore, but she’s also not swooping in to save the day. 

  
"Or,” Sarah says, leaning in so that her face is close to Lexa’s, “you could come over to my place and we could catch up.”

 

Lexa catches herself looking up through her eyelashes at Sarah. “Um.” It’s tempting, actually. She hasn’t been in a relationship, or even kissed someone, in quite a while. Clarke, well, she doesn’t count at all, does she?

 

“Hi, I’m Clarke, Lexa’s girlfriend.” Clarke’s hand is on her shoulder suddenly and her other hand juts out to shake Sarah’s.

 

“Oh, I’m so sorry. Lexa why didn’t you say something?”

 

Lexa clears her throat, “I was just about to…”

 

“You’re pretty popular around here,” Clarke says, dragging her hand down Lexa’s back to tangle their fingers together. Clarke’s hand is soft and strong as her fingers weave through Lexa’s.

 

“Are you running into all of your ex-girlfriends from home, Lex?” Sarah asks. She doesn’t look at Clarke and she hasn’t backed away much from Lexa.

 

“Oh, are you Lexa’s ex-girlfriend? She’s never mentioned you.”

 

Lexa can’t help the chuckle and has to bite her lip from letting a fully laugh escape.  

 

Sarah backs up more then, if only to protect herself from the way Clarke’s chin juts out.

 

“I think I hear my mom calling me. Nice to see you Lexa.”

 

Clarke watches her disappear around the corner, no mom in sight. Her hand clenches Lexa’s the entire time.

 

Lexa’s mom appears an instant later.

 

“Did I just see Sarah?”

 

Lexa squints her eyes at her mom.

 

“What?” Her mom says it with a smile and Lexa starts to think that maybe the scheme to have Clarke ‘be her girl’ has been transparent from the start. Rachel and Sarah within the span on 18 hours? That can’t be a coincidence.

 

 

  
  
  
On Saturday night, she realizes that the plan has failed miserably.   
  
Latkes sizzle on the stovetop.  

 

Clarke sketches by the fireplace.

 

Her mom shuffles around the kitchen.

 

Her father has disappeared into the TV room.

 

She reads by window.

 

Lights flash in the driveway. 

  
"Oh, the Aaronsons are here," her mom says, removing her apron. Lexa dog-ears her book and looks outside.

  
"Who?"

  
"The Aaronsons, from shul. They moved to town a few years ago. Mr. Aaronson is a doctor at the hospital. Very nice man."

  
"And what about his daughter?" Lexa asks, glaring at her mom.

  
"What about his daughter?" She asks with a smile. The same kind of smile that Lexa uses to greet her clients.

  
"Well I'm sure he has one."

  
"He does. Alyssa. Also very nice. Beautiful. Smart. A good Jewish girl. She’s in law school, too."

  
"This has got to stop, Ma," Lexa pleads.

  
"Why, Lexa? Your mother just wants to see you settle down with a nice girl and be happy."

  
"Well I'm trying with Clarke. We're dating. I know you've ignored that every time I've said it, but it needs to start sinking in soon."

  
"You said on Thursday that it's not serious," she starts. There seems to be more to be said, but the doorbell rings. "Go get the door, Lexa."

 

Dinner is mostly a muted affair. There’s talk of happenings at the synagogue, the new cantor, the elaborate b’nai mitzvah kids have these days. They steer clear of politics and Clarke is near silent for most of dinner. Not only silent, but her mood seems to echo Lexa’s, and if she had her regrets on the train ride up, they’re sinking in now. Clarke doesn’t deserve this, fake relationship or not.

 

After dinner, things get interesting.

 

“Lexa, tell Alyssa about that project you’re working on. Alyssa’s in law school and she might be interested in it,” her mom says as she passes the bottle of wine her way. She emphasizes the word law school and Lexa can hear the oft-buried Brooklyn accent her mom tried to rid herself of when she moved away to college.

 

“Clarke can talk about it, too,” she says directly to her mother. She turns to the Aaronsons and says, “We work together” as an aside.

 

“Oh, that’s nice that you brought a work friend over for Hanukkah, Lexa,” Mrs. Aaronson says. She’s got the Holly Homemaker look that has Lexa convinced that she has no idea what’s going on.

 

She tips the wine bottle and fills her glass nearly to the top. It isn’t until she feels Clarke’s hand squeezing her thigh under the table that she stops. “Clarke’s actually my girlfriend,” she says through barely clenched teeth.

 

“But it’s not serious.”

 

“Deborah,” her dad chimes in, in warning.

 

Lexa takes another swig of wine. As much as she wants to push her chair back and escape, she doesn’t want to embarrass her mother, or Alyssa. After all, it’s not like Alyssa knew what she was signing up for when she agreed to come to dinner tonight, either.  

 

Mr. Aaronson appears to sense the tension as he steers the conversation toward basketball.

 

Lexa takes that as a cue to look at her mom and reach down to grasp Clarke’s hand under the table. Just when her mom looks at her again, she lifts Clarke’s hand and kisses it. If she weren’t so busy discerning her mother’s reaction, she might have noticed Clarke’s gasp and the reddening of her cheeks.

 

The Aaronsons beg out of dessert and Clarke and Lexa disappear upstairs.

 

It’s quiet for a while. Lexa reads on her bed and at some point Clarke slips into the shower. She’s gone for too long and when she reappears in Lexa’s room, she’s lined her eyes in black and put on a tight pair of jeans.

 

"Come on, let's get out of here,” she says, tossing Lexa her sweater. “We'll take an Uber to the city, go out, have some drinks. You need to get away for a bit. We both do.”

 

 

 

 

The lights along South Street are even brighter at Christmas. Clarke finds an empty spot off the main drag with a loud jukebox and a pool table and a long bar.

 

“You ok?” she asks after Lexa takes a gulp of her cocktail.

 

“I’m so sorry, Clarke. I didn’t think she’d bring all of these girls around with you here.”

 

“It’s ok.”

 

“It’s not ok.”

 

“It is ok. We’re not together.”

 

“It doesn’t matter. It’s disrespectful and it’s embarrassing.”

 

“Lexa,” Clarke says firmly. Her hands grip Lexa’s shoulders and Lexa takes in a deep, startled breath. Her eyes look into Lexa’s, reading her. One hand trails up to cup her cheek. “It’s ok,” Clarke whispers, a thumb tracing over her cheek.

 

Lexa gulps, almost cartoonishly. She wants to lean into Clarke’s touch and pull away from it. Clarke’s eyes dip to her lips and it feels dangerously like that moment on the train Thursday night.

 

“I’m sorry,” she finally says, hand lifted from her lap and grabbing onto Clarke’s. Clarke doesn’t let go of her hand once Lexa grabs it.

 

She squeezes her hand tight and doesn’t move away. “No, don’t be sorry. While this hasn’t been exactly what we’d planning, I’ve enjoyed getting to know you and your family, as crazy as that sounds.”

 

Lexa laughs and looks down at their hands. “I can’t believe you enjoy my family.”

 

“Your dad is hilarious, and so smart. He gave me the full history of those stained glass windows in your synagogue, and he always mutters these one-liners under his breath when he’s watching TV. And I know your mom drives you crazy, but we got a chance to talk in the food court yesterday and I can see that she just wants you to be happy. She doesn’t really know the best way to go about doing that but…”

 

And then Lexa’s lips are pressed against hers, soft and full and surprising. It takes her a second to close her eyes and relax into a moment that she’s been thinking about at the very least since Thursday, but in all honestly well before that. When Clarke finally does relax, she breaks the kiss and pulls Lexa’s neck closer, slotting her lips more firmly around that full bottom lip she’s been lusting after. Even over the thump of the jukebox and her heart, she can hear Lexa’s soft moan.

 

When she pulls back, Lexa’s eyes are still closed. They open slowly to a new world, where she kisses Clarke and Clarke kisses her back.

 

As much as Lexa wants to keep kissing Clarke, and as much as the hand that trails back and forth over her thigh says that Clarke has the same thing in mind, Lexa doesn’t want to be that couple in the shadows of the bar.

 

The ride home is torturous. Clarke fastens herself into the left seat and Lexa into the right and the driver talks to about the Eagles and the 76ers them the entire way home.

 

When they finally make it back to Lexa’s room, the house is dark and silent.

 

Clarke’s disappeared to the bathroom without a word and Lexa’s alone in her bedroom and it’s been long enough and quiet enough that it feels like maybe the kiss didn’t even happen.

 

When Clarke’s still not back from the bathroom, Lexa quickly changes into her pajamas, tucks herself under the covers, turns off the light, and closes her eyes. If Clarke regrets it all, she doesn’t want to have to talk about it tonight.

 

She’s not sure when Clarke comes back. She just feels her warm weight press against her and a hand drop on her hip.

 

“Lex? You asleep?”

 

She doesn’t budge, fearful about what words might come out if she does respond. After all, Clarke didn’t even try to hold her hand on the ride home. She barely even looked at her.

 

A few moments later, she feels Clarke’s body press tighter against her, a hand sweep back her hair, and a kiss land delicately on the back of her neck.

 

She turns over and Clarke is so close.

 

“I thought you were asleep,” Clarke whispers, eyes wide awake and darting between Lexa’s sleepy eyes and full lips.

 

Lexa shakes her head.

 

“You ok?”

 

Lexa nods.

 

Clarke leans in and presses another kiss against her lips. It feels softer in the dark and quiet of her room. Her hands reach out and pull Clarke in further. Now that they’re in her room, now that Clarke’s in her bed and kissing her again, she wants more.

 

Clarke leans in closer, her body pressed as close as it gets, and parts her mouth. Her tongue darts out to catch Lexa’s bottom lip, then slips against Lexa’s tongue.

 

Soon, though, the angle becomes too awkward. Just as Lexa pulls back to adjust, Clarke throws her leg over Lexa’s midsection and straddles her, pushing her hips down against Lexa first, then rolling the rest of her body tightly against her. Everything is so close and warm that Lexa feels her breath shake as it slips out of her.

 

“Are we practice kissing?” She whispers it so quietly that she thinks she may have just said it in her head, except that Clarke has pulled back and is looking at her eyes instead of her lips.

 

“What?”

 

“Is this just practice? For my mom?”

 

“Don’t talk about your mom when I’m trying to make out with you.” Clarke says it with a laugh and expects Lexa to join in, but she’s stone-faced.

 

“But is this for real?” She asks. It’s the exact question she wanted to avoid, so wary of its answer and the repercussions.

 

“Yes,” Clarke says, dipping down to lay a soft kiss against Lexa’s temple. “I like you. Clearly, I like you more than you even realize. This is me showing you that I like you.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yes,” she says, dipping down to lay a soft kiss against Lexa’s cheek this time. “Now if you like me, I’m going to need you to shut up and kiss me some more.”

 

“Yes, I like you.”

 

Clarke laughs and leans back in.

 

 

 

 

 

Clarke’s up earlier than Lexa. Much earlier. Lexa’s face is smushed against her pillow and her mouth is parted and although she’s so warm and so cute when she’s asleep, Clarke just can’t go any longer without a cup of coffee.

 

Lexa’s mom is in her robe near the counter. The smell of freshly ground coffee lingers as she sees the pot filling. Neither talks, somehow knowing that the conversation will be much more coherent once they’ve had their first few sips.

 

After Clarke’s had the first half of her cup, she sees Lexa’s mom studying her from across the table.

 

“So you and my Lexa.”

 

Clarke nods slowly at first, but thinking about the last twelve hours, it becomes stronger and her lips curl into a smile as she brings the cup back to her mouth.

 

“Tell me what you see in her.”

 

Her whole body stops, the coffee lapping at her lips. She sets the mug down and looks up at Lexa’s mom.

 

“I used to eat my lunch alone,” she starts, thinking about the bright fluorescent lights of the lunch room and the cheap peanut butter and jelly sandwiches she’d pack herself daily. “Every day at 12:45, I’d set a note on my desk that I’m out to lunch and every day from 12:45 – 1:15, I’d sit by myself in the company lunch room.”

 

Lexa’s mom tilts her head and leans in, eyes glancing up for an instant before looking back at Clarke, who’s lost in her memories and the wood grain of the table.

 

“She was the first person at the office to ask me about my day and the first person to sit down and have lunch with me. She was the first person I had over to my new apartment in DC and the first person who made me feel like maybe being adult isn’t so bad after all.” She’s about to add something about Lexa’s lips and her jaw line, but she can’t say that to Lexa’s mom.

 

“She’s a good girl.”

 

“She makes my days better and my nights feel a little bit more like home.”

 

Footsteps shuffle from a short distance behind her and she feels Lexa’s lips against her cheek. Clarke turns and grabs her hand and Lexa wants to kiss her but she also wants for her mom to get lost.

 

“Did you hear that?”

 

“I may have been coming down the stairs when my mom asked you that question,” Lexa says, kissing the palm of Clarke’s hand before grabbing her mug and refilling it. She takes another mug from the cabinet and fills her own cup up before sitting back down beside Clarke. Her mom leans over her own cup. She looks like she’s been smiling the entire time.

  
"So, Clarke. Do you want children?"

  
Clarke coughs and sputters, eyes wide and head swiveling between Lexa and her mom.

 

"Ma, come on."

  
"What? I'm just curious. I'm trying to get to know Clarke better."

  
"There are other ways." Lexa shakes her head. "Clarke tell her about your art."

  
"Art? You're an artist? That's no way to support yourself."

 

Lexa heaves a sigh and resigns herself to putting the morning in the win column nonetheless.

  
  
When Clarke goes upstairs to take a shower, Lexa gets the same inquisition from her mom.

  
  
"Lexa, I know you think your mother is some old hag who you can't talk to, but I know what's going on between you and Clarke. I don't know it all exactly, but I've got a mother's intuition about these things."

  
"What, that we like each other?" Lexa asks, drying the plate her mother hands her.

  
"I don't think this weekend started that way, but I think something happened yesterday or last night maybe."

  
Lexa is stunned into silence for a moment, before she quickly recovers. "You're losing it, Ma. I've liked Clarke since she started working with me. I've liked her since she flashed me that smile from behind her desk and since she started baking me cookies and bringing them to our lunches.”

  
"And when you said it's not serious on Thursday?"

  
“I just wanted you to lay off a bit. Is that so much to ask?”

 

Her mom turns off the water and turns to her, her eyes glancing to the doorway for an instant before looking Lexa up and down. “You’re my only girl, Lexa. I want you to be happy.”

 

“I’m happy,” she says, a genuine smile cracks her face. “And Clarke makes me happier.”

 

“She seems like a good girl.”

 

“She is. She’s smart, and funny, and really talented even if she won’t believe it herself.”

 

“The art?”

 

“You should see it, Ma,” she says, pausing to think of the canvases hanging in Clarke’s apartment. The first time she’d seen it, she was near speechless. “It moves you.”

 

“Does it?” Her mom smiles and looks over Lexa’s shoulder.

  
"She's standing behind me, isn't she?"

 

“Hi, Clarke.”

 

“Hi, Lex.” Clarke doesn’t move, but Lexa turns to look at her. Clarke seems suddenly shy in front of Lexa’s mom.

 

The doubts she’d had after the car ride home have faded from her mind completely. Clarke isn’t just playing at something anymore, and neither is she. She’s not sure what the train ride home will be like, or what work will be like tomorrow morning, or what the next Thursday movie night will be like (though there’s a fluttering inside when she thinks about the possibilities), but she knows that she’s not satisfied any more.

 

She needs more.

 

She needs morning hellos that start in Clarke’s bedroom, with her blonde hair tickling Lexa’s lips. She needs work greetings with shy, flirtatious smiles and twelve forty-five lunches with eye contact that make her wish the next four hours wouldn’t go so torturously slow. She needs movie nights that end in moans and soft eyes and light bruises in deliciously unseen places.

 

She needs Clarke to be her girl.

 

 

 

 

 

Sunday night dinner is a muted affair. Lexa’s dad is par for the course – grumbly and quiet. Lexa’s mother is more subdued than Clarke’s ever seen her. She wavers between heaping affectionate praise on them both, and making Lexa feel guilty that she has to go.  

 

When Clarke sees Lexa’s jaw harden for the fourth or fifth time that night, she interrupts, hoping to ease some of her tension.

 

“So, how did you and Lexa’s dad meet?” she asks, looking back and forth between the two.

 

Lexa’s mom leans back in her chair and her fingers wrap around the stem of the wine glass. “We were set up, actually.”

 

“A shidduch?” It doesn’t sound as natural coming from her mouth, but she hopes it sounds at least somewhat convincing.

 

“Where’d you learn that?” Lexa’s mom says with a laugh and a look at Lexa, who’s smiling. “Not an official shidduch, but two friends set us up in college.”

 

“College certainly isn’t like that anymore,” Clarke says. She remembers all of the hook-up possibilities she had in college, but the chance never arose to get set up on a blind date. It seems like a missed opportunity.

 

“Lexa said the same thing when she was in college and I tried to set her up. In not quite as nice a tone, mind you. No, but back when Lexa’s dad and I were at the University of Chicago, people actually got set up and dated, none of this casual sex stuff.”

 

“Ok Ma,” Lexa says exasperatedly. “Not sure where you got the idea that there’s all sorts of casual sex happening in my generation.”

 

“University of Chicago?” Clarke interrupts, “that’s where my mom went. Did you know Abby Griffin?”

 

“I do know Abby Griffin,” she says, taking another sip of her wine. “In fact, I ran into Abby at the last reunion. What was that, a year and a half ago?” Lexa’s mom does not look as surprised as Lexa thinks she should look.  

 

Her eyes narrow in on her mom and whatever scheme is working here. “So you know Clarke’s mom, Ma?”

 

“I do. I know Clarke’s mom and I actually knew of Clarke.” There’s a hint of a smile forming on her mother’s face and Lexa can’t tell whether to be angry or to keep listening until she spills whatever secret she’s hiding. “I knew of Clarke even before you did.”

 

“What? I don’t understand.” Clarke says it and Lexa thinks it, but she also has an inkling that something else is going on.

 

“When Abby ran into me at our reunion, she mentioned a beautiful, talented daughter. She said that Clarke was moving to DC and I told her about how my Lexa loved the company she’s working for. And then Abby showed me her picture and I saw how pretty Clarke was and I thought, why not make a little shidduch?” She leans back again in her chair, fingers toying with the stem of her wine glass once again.

 

“No,” Lexa says immediately. “No, you can't take credit for this Ma."

  
"So I made a shidduch." She says it like Lexa’s not even in the room, looking around at her husband, then at Clarke, and finally at Lexa, a separate smile for each one of them.

  
"No, Ma. Getting Clarke a job at my work is not making a shidduch."

 

Clarke starts to laugh and Lexa only feels angrier.

  
"It's as close as it's going to get with my independent daughter in this modern age."

 

“Oh this is too good,” Clarke says, pushing herself from her seat. “I’ll be right back. I need to call my mom. And then after we talk, I’m bringing her in here to talk to you two.”

 

“Abby and I talked this morning, after you girls went upstairs to take your showers and get ready,” she says, almost more to Lexa than to Clarke, that same smirk on her face. “A shidduch, we said!”

 

Clarke disappears up to Lexa’s room and Lexa feels the anger bubble forth.

  
"So what about all of those other girls that you brought by all weekend?" She clenches her jaw, so as not to yell at her dear mother. She’d never hear the end of it if she did.

  
"What?” Deborah says with a shrug, still leaned back in her seat. “You said it wasn't serious."

 

“It wasn’t,” she says, then pauses. She lets loose the clench of her jaw and feels herself sit back a bit in her own chair. “I mean, it wasn’t then. I think it’s more serious now.”

 

“A couple days later and it’s more serious?”

 

“Are you mad about that?” She looks up to get a read on her mom. A smile cracks through and her mom tilts her head, a glisten in her eye.

 

“Of course not, honey,” she says, a little wobbly. “You’re just going to give your mother a heart attack with all this stress.”

  
Lexa fiddles with her own wine glass, deeply interested in the few sips left. "What about Clarke not being Jewish?" It’s almost a whisper.

  
"I'll live. Give me grandbabies soon and I'll live."

  
That’s enough to crack through the sudden seriousness. "We're twenty-four, Ma.” It’s so much louder that it fills the room and feels like a yell. Her dad looks up from his phone. “There are no weddings or grandbabies on the horizon."

 

“Leave the girl alone, Deborah,” her dad chimes in before looking back down to his phone.

  
Her mom stands and moves to clear the tables, swooping behind Lexa and whispering in her ear, "Make it happen before you put me in a home, can you do that at least?"

  
"Ma."

  
"I love you, Lexa." She’s still behind Lexa and her hand rests on her shoulder.

  
"Love you, too, Ma."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Say hi on tumblr: factorsofex


End file.
